Mona's Diary
by amythis
Summary: "This is the private, personal property of Mona Hutchison. No one may read it without permission, especially you, Jughead and Cornball. (Babs, I might let you read it when you're a teenager.)"
1. 1941 to 1945

Saturday, July 5, 1941

Mama gave me this diary for my birthday. I don't like to write, and what I really wanted was a Betty Grable bathing suit, but she said I'm too young for that. I don't think ten is so young, but Mama can be stubborn.

The thing about diaries is either life is boring, like it is here in East Texas, or it's so exciting, like in Hollywood, that you never have time to write.

But since I've got you, I may as well tell you about my boring life. I just finished fourth grade and I live in a three-bedroom two-story house with six people.

The oldest person in the house is my grandma, Katherine Hutchison, Daddy's mama. She is very old, as old as the President. She was a grown-up when the other Roosevelt was president, but she didn't vote for him. Women couldn't vote then and anyway she is a Democrat. (Just about the only one in town.) She admires Eleanor Roosevelt, who is smart and brave and sticks up for the little guy. Mrs. Roosevelt writes her diary for the papers, six days a week!

Next oldest is Daddy, who was almost old enough to fight in the Great War. He is smart and brave, but he is handsome, not plain like the First Lady, although he is tall and skinny. He is the best daddy in the world and he loves Mama so much that he will dance with her in the kitchen and pretend it's a fancy New York nightclub. He works hard but our family is kind of big and the Depression isn't really over in our town.

Mama is the most beautiful woman in the world. I hope I grow up to look just like her. I have her red hair but I also have freckles. Mama used to be a flapper and she wishes she was thin and flat-chested like Grandma, but Grandma says Mama is crazy. Mama could wear a Betty Grable bathing suit if she wanted to, but she says that wouldn't be right for a middle-aged mother of four. Mama loves music more than anything except her family.

My older brother Archie, who I call "Starched Shorts," is twelve and he thinks he's so grown up, but sometimes he forgets about being responsible and he can act like a kid instead of an almost teenager. He's a little fat, like Mama's side of the family, and he has red hair, too.

My other brother, Cornelius (I call him "Cornball") is eight. He takes after Daddy's side in looks. He has brown hair and is skinny, but he's not tall yet. Bullies like to pick on him, and Starched Shorts and I have to defend him. He reads a lot and has to wear glasses. He loves superhero comics and science fiction. He loves writing, but not anything real or true.

My only sister is Barbara. The family still calls her "Baby," or sometimes "Babby," but I call her "Babs" because in nine years she'll be a teenager, and I think that would be a good teenaged nickname. She's very cute, with brown hair and big brown eyes, and less annoying than my brothers, but Grandma says I think that because Babs worships me. The three of us share a room, which is nicer than it sounds. I would like my own room of course, but Grandma gives good advice, and I like having a little sister to dress up and spoil.

What else can I tell you about me? I like dogs but Mama says us kids make enough of a mess, so we can't have one (a dog, not a mess). I love clothes and I have a secret dream to move to Hollywood and become a costume designer. That way, I would meet all the stars and maybe marry one. Or two.

I don't have a boyfriend yet, but Jimmy Wilson did give me a birthday kiss yesterday, in the backseat of his father's Studebaker. Don't worry, it was parked in front of their house.

Yes, I was born on the 4th of July. Daddy calls me his "little firecracker," but that's also because of my fiery temper and hair. My brothers and sister call me "Money," not like the kind you spend. Starchy Shorts couldn't pronounce "Mona" when I was a baby, and then he kept calling me that, and Cornball and Babs picked it up when they started to talk.

That's all I can think to say right now. And Mama promised to teach me to jitterbug today if it's not too hot. (We can't afford air conditioning, like they probably have in Hollywood.)

Sunday, July 5, 1942

I know, it's been a whole year! Well, I kind of forgot about you, until Mama hinted that she might get me another diary for this birthday. Maybe I will just write in you the day after every birthday. That will mean you'll last another 364 years, ha ha!

So I'm eleven now and I still don't have a Betty Grable figure but I'm starting to get a bust. Grandma jokes that soon she can give me brassieres as hand-me-downs. (At least I think they're jokes. We're so poor that maybe I will have to wear old old-lady undergarments!)

The biggest change since a year ago is that the U.S. is in The War now, which means that it should end soon. Daddy signed up, to help things along. He knew he wouldn't get drafted, not when he's over 40 and is sole support of our family. Well, I told you he was brave!

Babs is scared that Daddy will be hurt, but she's so little (just five) that she gets scared easy. The boys say they will join up when they're old enough, but even Jughead is only thirteen.

That is my new nickname for Archie. Sometimes Cornball trades funny comics for the superhero ones, and there is a new one I like because it is all about high school kids. The main character is called Archie Andrews, and he has red hair and freckles, so of course I was calling Starched Shorts that, but he took it as a compliment. So now I call him Jughead, after A.A.'s weird friend.

Monday, July 5, 1943

Maybe I should call this "My Year," since I'm not as "prolific" as Mrs. Roosevelt. (That's a vocabulary word on my summer reading list. It means you make a lot of stuff.)

The biggest change in me is I got The Curse. That's what Mama calls it, but Grandma says it's when you don't get it that you have to worry. (I'm not sure what she means by that, and she won't tell me till I'm older.) I am the first of my friends to get it, so I'm proud of that. The bad thing is that now that I can wear more grown-up bathing suits (not yet a Grable figure, but I'm getting closer), sometimes I can't go swimming because of the curse.

More boys want to kiss me, not just Jimmy Wilson, but Mama says to be careful. I don't see what's wrong with kissing. It feels nice. She says just don't let them touch me where they shouldn't. (She doesn't explain that.)

The rest of the family is growing up, too. Jughead starts high school this Fall, and Babs will be in first grade.

Cornball and I are still at grammar school of course, but now that he's ten he has decided that he will become a science-fiction writer. I am the only one he lets read his writing, although I would never let him read this, the only thing I write outside of school. He's working on a story right now about outer-space aliens that walk among us and look like normal human beings but they suck out your soul and make you a zombie with no personality of your own, just a hive mentality, like with bees. It's called _The Hive People_, and it gives me hives!

Mama says she might get a job, so she won't feel so lonely with all of us kids at school. Daddy's pay in the Army is good and he sends home what he can, but there are still things we can't afford, so a little extra money (not Money) would be nice.

I miss Daddy a lot, but Mama is sure The War will end in a few more months. Maybe he will be home by Christmas! I will make sure to write an entry if he is.

Otherwise, see you next year, when I'm finally a teenager!

Wednesday, July 5, 1944

So I'm finally a teenager. I used to dream about this, but life is nothing like I imagined.

I know I should've written this when we found out, but I just couldn't. Even months later, it doesn't seem real. When friends' fathers have died, you see them get sick or there's something leading up to it. But we got a telegram and it happened so far away.

Mama carried on, crying and insisting it was a mistake, a lie. The drinking started that night, although she still goes to her secretary job every weekday and tries to act like she's all right.

Grandma is trying to hold this family together, but it's not easy. She talked Jughead out of going and getting a job. He's only fifteen and she wants him to be the first person in the family to finish high school, maybe even go to college, although I don't know where she thinks the money is going to come from. Daddy left us some, and there is the Army insurance and all, but it's not enough.

Since Jughead reacted by trying to act more grown up and responsible than he is, you can guess that Cornball's reaction was to escape into his stories. He says death isn't as scary when it's pretend and he gets to decide who lives and who dies.

Poor little Babs, who's always been quiet and shy, is even quieter and shyer now. She's only seven! That is too young to lose your daddy. Even I am too young.

Tuesday, June 5, 1945

I know, I'm a month early, but I couldn't wait any longer or I'd burst. Mama is getting married and we're all moving to New England!

Mama's boss had a rich client visiting from out of town, and her boss asked her to have dinner with this Mr. Reynolds. Mama didn't want to at first, even though her boss said she didn't have to kiss Mr. Reynolds or anything, just be nice to him.

But then she ended up liking Mr. Reynolds, who of course thought she was beautiful, so she did kiss him. And now they're getting married!

I don't know much about this guy, but he's not as handsome or as sweet as Daddy of course. He's not mean but he doesn't seem to like kids, so why is he marrying a woman with four of them?

Grandma said Mama is probably lonely without Daddy. I said, "Well, I miss Daddy, too, but I wouldn't run out and get another father!" And I pointed out that Grandma never remarried after Grandpa died twenty years ago, and I don't think Eleanor Roosevelt is going to rush right out and get a new husband either. She said Mama is less independent and needs a man in her life.

Jughead thinks Mama is after Mr. Reynolds's money, not that she's a gold-digger, but that much money is hard to resist. Cornball worries about moving to Connecticut, and Babs is a little scared of Mr. Reynolds because he's a stranger, but she does miss having a father.

Yeah, we have to move to Connecticut. Don't that beat all! Mr. Reynolds works in New York. (Don't ask me at what, they explained it, but I still don't understand it. It's one of those millionaire jobs you see in the movies.) He has a big estate in Connecticut though, so he said, "Your children won't be exposed to the criminal element in The City." Yes, he talks like that!

OK, in a way I want to see his mansion and everything, but I would rather live here with Grandma. I was born in this house, and so was Daddy. And poor Grandma's going to have to live all alone, unless my annoying Great-Aunt Almira moves in with her, and Grandma says she'd rather move to the old ladies' home than live with her sister.

I'm going to miss all my friends, too. I was starting high school this Fall! That means dances and football games and everything, just like in the Archie comics. Maybe I could get a boyfriend who actually drives a car, rather than sit with Jimmy Wilson in a parked one.

Babs is so sweet. She said maybe I will get a nice boyfriend in Connecticut. Maybe I will, but I'm worried that the boys will be stuck up and look down on a girl that even Grandma calls "an untamed Texan redhead."

Still, I will admit, I'm actually looking forward to the wedding. The boys are going to be ushers (they don't want to wear tuxes, but too bad), and Babs will be the flower girl, but I get to be not just a bridesmaid but the maid of honor. I will pretend it's a big Hollywood wedding, like the one I wish that Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall had a couple weeks ago. (They just had a quiet little ceremony, although I guess that could be nice, too.) I won't think about who's actually getting married.

Thursday, July 5, 1945

Well, here I am, fourteen and living in Connecticut.

The wedding was nice I guess. Fancy anyway. I loved my dress and Babs looked adorable. Mama was stunning, but I don't think she was glowing like a bride is supposed to. I know it was a second wedding, but I can tell she doesn't love Mr. Reynolds. There's nothing I can do about it though.

They went off on their honeymoon, while us kids finished out the school year. On the day after the last day of school, the day before Mama and Mr. Reynolds were due back, I let Jimmy Wilson feel me up, for ten seconds. It was partly to say goodbye and partly to squash the rumors that I pad my brassiere. I don't mind if rumors start that I'm easy, but I didn't want lies spread about me! Even though I was moving away.

I will be more careful of my reputation in Connecticut. They're probably all a bunch of stick in the muds. (Sticks in the mud?) The ones I met at the wedding were anyway. I don't think they were too happy about having to come to a "hick town" in Texas in June, but too bad for them. They didn't stay long of course, but I knew I'd be seeing them after we moved to the mansion.

It really is a mansion. It's so big that Babs got lost our first night here. She and I don't share a room anymore. We both have suites! It's like a hotel.

I miss bunking with her. I know, that sounds crazy because I'm a teenager and she's my kid sister, but I feel so alone. I miss Grandma even more of course.

Still, I think under other circumstances, like if Daddy had struck oil and he was here instead of Mr. Reynolds, I would love living in this house. Except, yeah, Grandma would have to have a suite, too.

I don't know how long it'll take to get used to being rich instead of poor. Maybe I never will get used to it. We have not just enough of everything but more than you can imagine. You should see the food!

But I can't lick the spoon when the chefs (yes, more than one) bake cakes, and I can't dance in the kitchen with Mama, because what would the servants say?

And we're not supposed to talk to the servants, except to give them orders, and then only things like "Please hand me" whatever, even when it's in our reach. They all know what they're generally supposed to do, and there's a housekeeper and a butler that get their orders from Mr. Reynolds and then tell the "lower servants" what to do specifically.

There are no other kids in the neighborhood, because there isn't really a neighborhood. You could put my whole hometown on the front lawn. In fact, Mr. Reynolds had his own fireworks display last night. He had them spell out "Happy birthday, Mona!", which was sweet I guess, except he hardly ever talks to me or the boys or Babs. We hardly ever see him, and I don't think Mama does much either. So if she doesn't love him, well, I suppose it doesn't matter as much as it would in a normal-sized house.

Anyway, I guess we'll meet the other kids when school starts. And it looks like I can't just write once a year anymore. I guess once a month will work.

Sunday, August 5, 1945

Well, I met my new "granny," since she's back from her summer holidays in Europe. (She headed over there as soon as Germany surrendered.) No, I don't call her Granny. I can't even really think of Mr. Reynolds as my stepdaddy. I call his mother Mrs. Reynolds, to her face anyway. I won't sully my diary with what I call her when I'm around Jughead, Cornball, and Babs.

Mr. Reynolds may not like kids, but his mother hates them, or at least us. I've eavesdropped on her and I know she thinks we're white trash. She told one of her friends on the phone that "the older girl is the worst of the lot, all bosom and no brains." I act dumb around her so she won't know what I really think.

She doesn't have a very high opinion of Mama either, but she said, "At least the woman is and the younger children may be salvageable, but the older two are probably a lost cause."

She wants to send us all off to prep school. Jughead wants to go to the nearest high school, because he was on the football team back home (well, he was the burliest boy in his year) and he doesn't want to play squash or fencing or whatever rich boys do. And I don't want to share a room with snobby strangers, girls who would look down on me for growing up poor. Yes, Mrs. Reynolds had the housekeeper take me on a shopping trip for a new wardrobe (I didn't get much say in what I bought, which is most of the fun of shopping), so at least they wouldn't pick on my clothes, but I'm sure they'd make fun of my accent and my ignorance of all the things rich girls are supposed to know.

Cornball, to my surprise, wants to go to a military academy. Even with the War almost over (Japan's probably going to surrender soon), he thinks there will be future wars. Of course, usually when he talks about future wars, he means with lasers, but I guess knowing strategy and all that would come in handy.

Babs doesn't want to leave home and she knows that we'd have to go to different schools, since we're six years apart. Oh, I just thought of something! I bet I'll get sent to some drippy all-girls school. Four years without boys? I don't think so!

Wednesday, September 5, 1945

Maybe I do have no brains. I thought I was being so smart playing dumb, deliberately failing the entrance exam for the prep school the Reynoldses wanted to send me to. But all that's happened is now the four of us are going to four different schools.

They let Jughead go to public school, since he's sixteen and almost a man and "a lost cause." They let Cornball go to military school. Poor Babs, who can't stick up for herself, is going to the same prep school Mrs. Reynolds went to when she was little.

And me? I'm going to Smallridge, the local day school, which is a prep school where you're not a boarder. It's not all that local. I can't walk there. The chauffeur has to drive me to and from, an hour each way. But I do get to see Mama and Jughead every day.

It's just, she's changing. She's taking "lady lessons" from her new mother-in-law. Mama and Grandma always got along, but it was because they respected and even admired each other's differences. With Mrs. Reynolds, Mama is always acting like an insecure little girl who needs guidance. And she wonders why I don't act the same.

I don't want you to think I'm acting low class or immature or anything. I mean, I'm fourteen and I am not the same girl who used to beat up the boys who beat up Cornball. But I want to be a normal teenager. I want to wear bobby socks and listen to Frank Sinatra records. I don't want to wear pearls and listen to classical!


	2. 1946 to 1949

Saturday, January 5, 1946

I couldn't keep it up, writing in here every month. But I figured, I'm fourteen-and-a-half and I've been living in Connecticut about six months, so I thought I should check in with you.

I'm getting used to life here, even if I don't like it much. It's almost the end of Christmas vacation. Cornball (with his new crewcut) and Babs came home and it was so good to all be together again, even without Grandma and Daddy, and with the Reynoldses and my Hive Person mother. People call Mama "the younger Mrs. Reynolds," and they don't know the half of it.

In fact, I'm supposed to call her Mummy. I told Jughead (who calls her "Mother" now) that that's appropriate because she's becoming undead.

I got lots of expensive gifts for Christmas, but no Betty Grable bathing suit, even though I could probably fit in one now. Obviously, it's not what a sub-debutante would wear.

I just realized, I now have a more luxurious lifestyle than Veronica Lodge!

Sunday, May 5, 1946

You are not going to believe this! It's not enough that Mrs. Reynolds has stolen Mama's personality. Now she has changed Mama, sorry, Mummy to look like her!

Yes, my beautiful, buxom, red-haired mother has not only dyed her hair to a boring "ash" color, but she has had her bosom reduced! She used to bind it when she was a flapper, but can you imagine giving up a wonderful chest like hers permanently? I've read gossip about Hollywood starlets who had doctors make their busts larger, but why would anyone be crazy enough to do the opposite?

I thought she was just going to a health spa for a "rest cure." (She doesn't drink as much these days but she has had a hard life and it shows, or did.) But then she came back looking like a stranger.

When I asked her why, she said that a large bosom is low class. I don't think so! I'm proud of my bosom and I hope it keeps growing. I'm also proud of my hair, and her dying it feels like even more of a betrayal.

She also doesn't talk like she used to anymore. It's not just losing her accent. (All of us are starting to.) It's the coldness in her voice, the way she said, "Don't be ridiculous, Mona."

I yelled, "I'm not the one who's being ridiculous!"

Then she slapped me. Oh, she and Daddy used to smack us kids around a bit, and you wouldn't want Grandma to give you a whippin', let me tell you. But we never doubted that they loved us. Mummy slapped me like I was an insolent servant. Then she sent me to my room, sorry, my suite.

Wednesday, June 5, 1946

I've made up my mind. When school lets out, I'm going to run away. Or, well, I'm going home. Back to Texas, back to Grandma. It's not like Mama wants me around anyway. Yes, I'd be abandoning Jughead, and the other kids, but he'll be eighteen next year and moving out anyway. And I only see Cornball and Babs on vacations. They can come visit me and Grandma.

I'm sure she'll let me live with her. She says in her letters that she misses me. And I can get a job when I turn sixteen next year.

Or maybe I'll marry Jimmy Wilson. I'm not in love with him, but I like him more than Mummy likes Mr. Reynolds. Maybe I'll have him get me in the family way. Or is that going too far, in more ways than one? Yeah, I don't want to be stuck with a baby at fifteen or sixteen.

I've also considered running off to Hollywood, but that's further away and I don't know anybody there. I figure that's Plan C, if things don't work out with Grandma or Jimmy.

Friday, July 5, 1946

Well, I'm on my way back to Connecticut. Grandma and Jughead agreed that I could spend my fifteenth birthday in Texas but then I had to go back to Mummy.

Grandma said that Eleanor Roosevelt wouldn't run away from a fight but would stay and be noble and try and uplift everyone. I can't do that, but I did agree to try to stand Connecticut till I'm 18. Then, if I'm still unhappy, I can live with Grandma. It's three years away, which is a long time, but not forever.

Jughead wouldn't admit that he missed me, even though he drove all the way down in his jalopy. (Mr. Reynolds has offered him fancy new cars, but Jughead got a job and bought an old heap with his own money. Mrs. Reynolds was shocked, but Mr. Reynolds said it showed initiative.)

Jughead said Cornball and Babs were sad when they came home for the summer and I wasn't there. Well, they could've stayed here for the summer, but I guess that wasn't likely.

I asked if Mummy missed me, but Jughead just said she was "disappointed." I'm not sure if that's good or bad.

Sunday, January 5, 1947

Mummy is still cold and distant to me. Running away didn't exactly bring us closer. Sometimes I'm scared of her. Not that she's hit me again. But I don't think she loves me anymore. I don't think she loves anyone.

I feel nervous and awkward around her, just like I do around Mrs. Reynolds. I have more confidence at school, even though my grades aren't great. I'm starting to make friends with the other girls, even though I don't really trust them. My "best friend" is Jenny Treadwell, because we both like movie stars and fashion, but I also know that she will flirt with any boy she sees. She doesn't have a bad reputation, because she doesn't really do anything with them. She just likes to play with their minds.

Not that we get to spend much time with boys, outside of mixers with our "brother school." We're still subdebs, not even Sweet Sixteen yet. Although I am not "never been kissed," I haven't been kissed in ages. (Grandma guessed my Plan B with Jimmy and never let me be alone with him the whole time I was there.)

Saturday, July 5, 1947

My Sweet Sixteen party was last night. I used to picture a barbecue (Daddy was the best barbecuer, did I ever tell you?), and a live band (probably swing), and me in a red dress that I'd design myself and have Grandma sew. Instead, I didn't get to choose the food, the music, or the dress.

I didn't even get to choose my date! They set me up with a drip named Walter Nordstrom, just because his father does business with Mr. Reynolds. Walter has acne and he stutters, ugh! At least he didn't try to kiss me.

Monday, July 5, 1948

My whole life has changed again, but for the better this time.

After three years in Connecticut, I'm not the same person I was. Some of that's to do with growing up, but I'm also more soft-spoken, more genteel. Grandma says, when we talk on the phone, I've really lost my accent, although I always seem to get some of it back after we talk awhile.

I've also, I'll admit, grown accustomed to this lifestyle. Not that I have to be wealthy all my life, but I don't know if I could stand being poor again.

And yet, well. I've fallen in love. No, it's not one of the boys from the "brother school," or one of Jughead's college friends. It's a man like no other.

I'd better back up a bit. I'm volunteering at the local theater this summer, not as a movie usher (which is what Babs thought at first), but as the wardrobe mistress's assistant for the summer stock company. It takes a lot of hard, un-glamorous work. (You wouldn't believe how many times I've stuck myself with a needle, but then I've never been that domestic, despite all Grandma's lessons.) But it is part of show biz, and if I did go to Hollywood, it's not as if I'd be starting at the top.

The actors and actresses don't exactly fit my dreams either. They're mostly a sloppy bunch, in dungarees and plaid shirts, even the women.

But there is one beauty, a male beauty. He doesn't look like a movie star though, because he's colored. Or as he prefers to be called, Negro. (He's also part Irish and Cherokee.)

James E. Jones is tall, about a foot taller than I am, and slender, with light brown eyes that see right through you. But they're kind eyes. He's the most considerate man I've ever met. Some of the actors treat me either like I'm a spoiled rich girl or like I'm the hired help, but James treats me like a person.

And he's so talented! He could play starring roles if not for the prejudice of the director. He can do drama, comedy, and, oh, yes, romance! Even though he's only seventeen, like me, he has a wonderful, deep voice that sounds like a god's.

At first, we were a little shy around each other, but by my birthday I became the Texan firecracker I used to be. Or, well, a grown-up version of that. And last night he kissed me at a party. I don't think it's just that I hadn't kissed a boy in three years that made it so special.

I think he feels at least some of what I do, but this is all so new and I'm afraid to ruin it with too many questions. Perhaps it will just be a summer romance. After all, he's an actor, and he might have a girl in another town, although I don't want to believe that.

Thursday, August 5, 1948

James has asked me to elope with him! We might run off to Hollywood or he might take me home to Michigan. We know that Mummy and the Reynoldses wouldn't approve. Not only are we underage, but he's an actor! Mummy already disapproves of my involvement with summer stock and only gave permission because Mr. Reynolds said it would teach me hard work and initiative.

Part of me is reluctant to run off. Maybe we should just be secretly engaged till we're both eighteen. It's only another eleven months. Maybe I could even get up the courage to tell Mummy that I'm in love.

Also, although they're two years older than when I ran off to Texas, I know that Cornball and Babs would be hurt if I left. And when I went to Texas, there was the hope that they and Jughead would visit, but I doubt they'd be allowed to if I were married to a Negro actor, especially if I got married by running away.

I have to decide soon, because James will be going home when the play is done, and then after that he plans to attend the University of Michigan, pre-med. No, I don't think this is a case where a mother will be happy that her daughter wants to marry a future doctor.

Sunday, September 5, 1948

Well, I told Mummy and she not only forbade the marriage but she made me quit helping out at summer stock. So I'm going back to Smallridge for my final year, starting the day after tomorrow (Labor Day).

As for the future, I don't know, I don't care. I guess I'll have my debut, maybe go to college, if that's what they want. I can't win. I can't have anything, or anyone, that I want. Why not just give in, be who they want me to be?

I've even agreed to go out with Walter Nordstrom again. They say his complexion has cleared up, not that it matters.

Tuesday, July 5, 1949

I'm in love again. Unfortunately, it's not with my fiancé.

I kept dating Walter and grew fond of him. He's handsome with clearer skin and, now that he's a college man, his stutter has faded.

James used to stutter, too. Then he had a wonderful teacher in high school who cured him of it. You'd never guess now, to hear the confidence he speaks with. No, James isn't the man I'm in love with either, although I'll always have fond memories of him.

I had my debut in June, after graduating from Smallridge. And then Walter proposed, and I couldn't really think of any reason to say no. I can understand now why Mama married Mr. Reynolds. If the love of your life doesn't work out, why not be with a man who has money and is pleasant company?

The wedding is scheduled for next month. Unfortunately, I will not be a virgin on my wedding night, although Walter probably will be.

I wasn't looking for this, but love is like that sometimes. I was just mailing a letter to my grandmother. Then at the post office I met a man who was as handsome as James, although very different. Well, they both had gorgeous brown eyes and hair.

This man said, "Can I use your tongue?"

And, without giving it much thought, I replied, "I don't know if you can, but you may."

He had been eating crackers and his mouth was too dry to lick a stamp. I helped him with that. And then he took me for a drive and we ended up parking and, well, our tongues got better acquainted.

I didn't tell him I was engaged. I know that was wrong of me. It was also wrong to keep seeing him. And it was probably very wrong to do what we did late last night to celebrate my eighteenth birthday, but never has wrong felt so right.

And now I don't know what to do, or who I can confide in, other than you, Dear Diary. If Grandma were here, she would scold me but she would also give me good advice. But I can't write this in a letter, or say it over the phone. Obviously, I can't tell Mummy. And Babs is too young, just twelve, and a more innocent twelve than I was. My brothers, especially Cornball (who at sixteen is not as scrawny as he once was), would probably want to beat up Robert.

That's his name, Robert Robinson. I like the sound of Mona Robinson better than Mona Nordstrom, or Mona Jones. Not that Robert has proposed to me, although he thinks I'm unattached. Maybe he's just out for fun, but the way he looks at me, I believe there's something more.

But, yes, I'm engaged to be married to Walter.

Friday, August 5, 1949

Well, it's over. And just beginning.

I caught Walter flirting with one of my bridesmaids, Jenny Treadwell, at the wedding rehearsal. I know, it didn't mean anything, especially on her side. But it gave me an excuse to break it off with him. I called her a hussy and him a louse, but I'm glad to be free, even though I have to pretend to be heartbroken.

Mummy wants me to go to college after all, in hopes I'll meet an eligible man there. But I don't want to be away from Robert. Maybe I can go somewhere local, even if it's not prestigious.

Monday, September 5, 1949

It's Labor Day. And I'm sure I'm going to have a baby.

It's Robert's of course, although I know when Mummy finds out, she's going to wonder if it might be Walter's. But Robert is the only man I've been with. (James and I were going to wait till we were married.)

I haven't told him or anyone yet. I don't know how he'll react. I hope he won't be too angry. What if he thinks I'm trying to trap him? Maybe this was just a summer romance to him, nothing permanent.

And I'm supposed to start at the community college tomorrow!

Wednesday, October 5, 1949

Well, I never made it to class, any of my classes. Morning sickness kicked in and the truth came out. Mummy and the Reynoldses were horrified.

But Robert has been wonderful. He won over Mummy and everyone. And he asked me to marry him. He said he wanted to anyway, but wasn't sure how serious I was about him. I finally confessed about my engagement. He was so understanding!

He's in his mid 20s and done with school, so it's not like if this had happened with James or Walter. He's got a promising business career and he can support me in, if not the style I've become accustomed to, at least a style far surpassing that of my childhood.

Robert loves me and he's looking forward to being a father. I love him but I have mixed feelings about being a mother, especially so young. In a way, I envy Jenny and my other friends, who are going to have fraternity boys pin them and serenade them, while I'll have a baby spit up on me.

But I think of how cute Babs was when she was a baby. Maybe my baby with Robert will be that cute.

In fact, I could picture us with a half dozen cute babies. But not all at once!

Saturday, November 5, 1949

The wedding last month was simple but elegant. I designed the gown so that it would hide my secret guest, although I was only in my third month.

The guest I most wanted couldn't make it. Grandma was too sick to travel, but she wished us both the best of luck, and she sent one of her handmade quilts. Mummy and Mrs. Reynolds wouldn't allow it to be displayed on the tables with the other gifts, but I had my maid pack an extra suitcase so that I could take it on the honeymoon.

Such a lovely honeymoon! Even though Robert and I hadn't waited, it was still the perfect wedding night. I'd never seen him look more handsome, or heard him be more charming. And I was so happy knowing that we could never be parted again.

I think we're going to have what Jughead, Cornball, and Babs all wished us, a wonderful life together.

Saturday, December 31, 1949

There are so many pages left in this diary, so much left unsaid. Well, I told you I don't like to write. But I want to make one last entry, as the 1940s draw to a close, these years of my youth, where I had and lost so many dreams.

Grandma died a week ago, on Christmas Eve. She was 68, which once would've seemed ancient to me, and now seems far too young to go. She was happy that she would be a great-grandmother, but I think she knew she wouldn't live to see the baby, no matter how many times I said we'd come and visit just as soon as we could.

Robert has agreed that if the baby's a girl, we'll call her Katherine after Grandma, with maybe Eleanor as a middle name. He's an only child, so he jokes that we'll have to name our other kids after my parents and siblings, and "maybe Almira if she puts you in her will."


End file.
